Edward Quarles
Sunnyland Plantation
Loudon County, Virginia

Mr. Quarles: I have located your escaped slave in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, across from Maryland, and will apprehend him and return him to you at the agreed fee plus the following expenses.

The bounty hunter, Jacob Harding, paused to give a little chuckle, take another swig of whiskey from a bottle, and look over at the trussed up fourteen-year-old black boy, Nat, on the bed in Harding’s upstairs room at the Chambersburg tavern. He had already apprehended the boy, but Quarles didn’t need to know that. Quarles hadn’t told him why he was offering so much money for the return of his fourteen-year-old house slave, but now Harding knew why and he didn’t see why he shouldn’t get some enjoyment out of it too above the fee.

He finished off the letter that would be sent off in the morning. He’d take his pleasure for a couple of days before setting off with the boy to return him to Virginia. He sat and looked at the bed for several minutes, one hand grasping and stroking his cock back to an erection and the other lifting the whiskey bottle at frequent intervals. He was naked. So was the boy. He was tall and husky, large boned and big cocked. The black boy was small and slim, sleek, with narrow hips and a creamy chocolate body. Some near ancestor of his had been messed with by a white master—just like, Harding now realized—a white master was messing around with the black boy.

The boy, Nat, was belly down on the bed, spread-eagled, wrists tied off at the corners of the brass headboard and ankles at the corners of the brass footboard. Jacob’s saddlebags were stuffed under the boy’s lower belly, raising his pert buttocks, showing his gaping hole, Harding’s cum dribbling out and down the boy’s spread inner thighs. The ride had been a good, stretching on.

Nat was small for his age, but perfectly formed. Harding was built big, his bone structure beefy, but muscular rather than fat. He was hung like a bull. But the boy had taken the man’s shaft easily enough, which assured Harding that the boy was accommodating, often so, for his Virginia master.

Nat’s mouth was gagged with a cloth bandana. There were new, reddish welts on his back. Harding’s hand whip lay on the bed beside the boy’s trembling torso. There was old welting on the boy’s back, so that too was something the boy’s master in Virginia indulged in. The boy was whimpering through the gag. His eyes were open wide, watching Harding, sitting at a nearby table, putting pen down, taking another drink from the bottle, and working his cock to full erection again with his hand.

Still stroking his shaft and picking the whiskey bottle up, Harding rose and walked over to the bed. A swig of the liquor and the whiskey bottle was placed on a nightstand beside the bed, within easy reach of the bed. Harding came down on the bed on his knees between the boy’s thighs. He picked up the hand whip, which had a thick leather handle on it. He didn’t switch the boy with it immediately, though. Instead, he turned the whip and penetrated the boy’s anus with the thick handle. The boy panted and moaned as Harding fucked him with the whip handle.

The man stopped to take a few more swigs of the whiskey before pulling the handle out, reversing the whip, and giving the boy a few lashes on his back. Nat writhed under him and moaned. Harding crouched over the boy’s hips, planting his feet on either side of the boy’s thighs. His body hovered over Nat’s, and his hands ran up the boy’s spread arms, grasping his restrained wrists. Nat jerked and grunted through the gag as the man mounted and penetrated him. Harding thrust hard and deep, regaining his earlier stretch of the boy’s channel, and began to pump again.

Harding hadn’t known that the handsome young black boy was a catamite when he’d come looking for the escaped slave, only one among several Harding was on the look for. He’d known that Quarles was offering far too much for a fourteen-year-old boy, trained house slave or not, but he’d figured that was Quarles’s mistake, not his. He was to come to understand why the man was so desperate to have the boy back, though.

Nat had come to him. Harding, using his slave-tracking skills, had thought the boy—and a few other runaway slaves on his list—might be in this area on the Maryland-Pennsylvania border, a good place for slaves escaping the South to cross into the North, but it was Nat who came to him, in the shadows beside the Chambersburg tavern when Harding had come out after his supper for a smoke.

“Suck you off, sir, for a bit of supper?” The voice had come from deeper in the shadows at the side of the tavern. “I give good suck.”

When the boy emerged to where Harding could see him, he realized almost immediately that he was Quarles’s escaped slave. The man’s leaflet described the boy perfectly. Most prominently, the boy had a rosy red birthmark on his throat.

The boy gave him more than just a blow job. Harding pressed the boy back into the shadows and up against the tavern wall, with the man’s back against the wall. He leaned back, jutted his pelvis out, and unbuttoned his fly with one hand while pressing the boy down to his knees in front of him with the other. Nat gagged on the size of Harding’s shaft, but he held, giving him expert head. Awareness dawned on Harding of why Quarles needed to have the young, handsome, black slave back. Being a man’s man himself, Harding wanted more and got more. Before the boy made him come, he pulled Nat off his knees, turned him and slammed the boy’s body against the wall of the tavern.

“Raise your arms and jut your tail back to me,” Harding growled and Nat did so with no more than a murmured objection given too low to understand. The boy panted and moaned as, having pulled his trousers and undergarments down to his ankles, Harding went down on his knees, palming the boy’s belly with one hand, and buried his face in the boy’s buttocks crack. The hole opened right up for him. Harding was assured that the boy was no virgin—that he had been trained to take a man’s cock. In any case, the boy didn’t offer much, if any, resistance.

Harding mounted and fucked the boy there, against the wall, and, having breeded him, picked him up, went to the back of the tavern, mounted the back stairs to the room he had rented above, tied the boy to the bed, and had his way with him again.